It's Gonna Be Alright
by Ryan Brooklyn
Summary: *Lyric Challenge* August Rush goes behind Wizard’s back and tries to help Arthur and the rest of Wizard’s street musicians feel the music speak to them like it does to him. Things go smoothly, until Wizard finds out.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: In response to my own lyric challenge. You can see the bottom of my profile for details.**

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing pertaining to August Rush._

**Rating: **PG to PG-13 for thematic elements

**Genre:** Hurt/Comfort/Friendship

**Summary:** *Lyric Challenge* August Rush goes behind Wizard's back and tries to help Arthur and the rest of Wizard's street musicians feel the music speak to them like it does to him. Things go smoothly, until Wizard finds out.

* * *

**It's Gonna Be Alright**

**Chapter 1**

August Rush sat on the park bench, strumming absently on his guitar. It was a new one. His father had bought it for him. He remembered his reaction with a slight smile. The dark wood had gleamed, the strings taut and shining. They sang as he ran his fingers up and down their thin bodies, each strand shivering in response to his touch as if anxious to start creating music. The neck was slender and firm, the body just the right size for him. He had thrown his arms around Louis's waist in an enthusiastic hug.

"It's perfect," he had said, happiness bubbling in his stomach like a fizzy soda.

Louis had beamed back at him, glad he was able to put a smile on the boy's face. He had been strangely solemn the past couple of weeks. Several months had passed since the night of the concert and Louis and Lyla had found each other and their son. At first August had been ecstatic, always grinning in their presence, wanting to go everywhere and do everything with them. They played music together, music August wrote. The notes had flowed from his fingers like water onto fresh new earth, concertos and rhapsodies springing up like roses and sunflowers.

But suddenly the inspiration seemed to leave August. No music came from his room. He stopped begging for them to play together. A permanent frown creased his forehead. Neither Lyla nor Louis could figure out what was wrong. The only thing they could agree on was that it started right after they had taken a walk together in Central Park. August had gone missing for a few minutes and the two adults had gone frantic looking for him. They had finally found him, staring after a black boy with a guitar and a man in a cowboy hat.

As soon as they got home, the music seemed to have left August. Nothing could inspire him to even hum. Louis tried to get a rhythm back in his son by tapping things in the boy's presence. Forks against plate, fingers against thigh, drumsticks against the doorframe. August appreciated the effort, and told his father such. But he said the music was waiting for something. He could not say what. He seemed to always be listening though. In the silence he was waiting as well, waiting for the music to speak to him.

In a final act of desperation, Louis went out and bought the new instrument. A rush of relief flowed over him as he watched August hesitantly pluck at the strings. Lyla watched from the doorway in breathless anticipation. But nothing else happened. Instead, August had raised his eyes and asked one question.

"May I go into the park and play?"

Lyla and Louis had been surprised to say the least. After what had happened in the park, they had steered clear of it. But now, with August watching them expectantly, his soulful eyes watching their faces with a scrutiny they had long gotten used to.

"I-I suppose so," Lyla had stammered, her dark blue eyes looking at him questioningly.

"Do ya want me to go with ya?" Louis asked, concern evident in his eyes.

He had not responded to Lyla's look, only smiled faintly and shook his head to Louis's question. "No, thank you," he was all he said before walking out the door without a look back.

And now he was sitting on the park bench, his fingers exploring the strings of the guitar with expert precision. To passers-by it was obvious the young boy was waiting for someone. Finally he spotted that someone. Moving around the guitar so that it rested on his back, August stood and made his way over to the black boy strumming a beat up guitar that August did not recognize until he got closer.

"Hello Arthur."

"So it's you again," the black boy said flatly, not looking too pleased to see August.

"Yes, it's me again," August said calmly.

"Are you here to take my spot? Cuz if you try, you're gonna havta fight me for it. I ain't moving." Arthur was watching warily, as if not sure if he should trust August, which August thought strange, but that was why he was here.

"No," August said. "I'm here to play with you."

"Huh?" Arthur blinked.

"I heard Wizard yelling at you in the park a couple weeks ago. He said you were playing badly." August's frank look was making Arthur uncomfortable. The black boy shifted back and forth on his feet, squinting up at the sky. "So I came to play with you. I thought that maybe you'd get more money that way. So Wizard wouldn't be mad."

"He _ain't_ gonna believe _I_ raked up all that dough on my own, no way." Arthur frowned down at August as if the other boy was crazy.

"Tell him an angel helped. He can't argue with God," August said matter-a-factly, climbing up on the platform to stand beside Arthur, swinging his guitar around.

Arthur's eyes bugged when he saw the instrument. "Man! Where'd you get a beauty like that?"

"My dad."

Arthur's excited expression disappeared instantly, his jaw tightening. He fiddled with his guitar for a moment, tuning it. August mimicked his gestures, making sure he was on the same key as Arthur. Without another look at August, Arthur picked at the strings a few times before he started playing, loudly and energetically. August listened carefully for a few seconds, waiting for the music to tell him what to play. Then the right harmony came to him and he started playing as well, keeping up with Arthur and expanding the piece so that it was a different one altogether, something grander and more complex than one would expect in a pair of park players. Arthur had to struggle to keep his frown as person after person would drop change into the guitar box.

Glancing over at August, Arthur marveled at the grin on the other boy's face. He played music because he loved it. Arthur played because he had to, and he felt the difference keenly. Jealousy suddenly burned within him. He played faster and faster, trying to trip August up. But the boy was just too good. He kept up and even added some flair at the end. Arthur stopped playing.

August looked startled. "Why did you stop?" he asked, breathless from the invigorating rush playing music always gave him. "It was really good!"

"With you maybe," Arthur muttered under his breath, looking down at the piles of bills and coins that had built up in the case. There was more in there than he had made in weeks. As much as Arthur was glad to have money, he was angry and suddenly could not stand to be around August. He jumped down from his perch, closing up the case so he could carry it to a new location.

August frowned, confused. "What's wrong?" he asked, concerned for his friend.

"Nothing," Arthur said. "I'm just going to find another spot." He picked up the case and turned away.

"I'll come with you!" August eagerly hopped off the platform and hurried after Arthur.

"No." Arthur stopped and turned slightly, frowning sidelong at August's flushed face. The envy grew stronger, feeding the green monster deep in Arthur's stomach. The boy in front of him had such a passion for music, he got flushed and breathless in its presence! It was like the music was his lover or something. The way he got instruments to respond to him, as though they were the slaves and he were the master, Arthur got frustrated just thinking about it. If only _he_ had that gift, that talent. If only he were as good as August Rush . . . then all his troubles would go away. They had for August at least.

"Go home to your dad. I bet he'd love to hear you play." The bitterness was sharp in Arthur's voice.

Understanding seemed to dawn on August and his expression fell. "Are you mad at me?"

"No. Yes. I dunno." Arthur shrugged. "Look, I really need to get this back to Wizard. I'll catch up with you later, okay?" He had to struggle to keep his voice calm, and it ended up coming out sad. That surprised him and yet it seemed fitting. Arthur did not like being jealous of August. The two had become fairly close over their time spent with Wizard. They had shared the same room, the same instrument, the same cold nights, the same lack of food, clothes, and parents. Those things gave them something in common. They had both been servants of Wizard, the man every child in his theater hated yet respected.

But now everything was different. August was with a family now. He had his own room, his own instrument, his own food and clothes. They had nothing in common anymore. Except maybe their hatred for Wizard.

"Can't you tell me what's wrong? I want to help if I can," August said, looking at Arthur so earnestly that the other boy could not help but sigh and break down his barriers somewhat.

"Look kid, I'm not mad at you okay? It's just . . . since you left, things have kinda been tough. I mean, I ain't regretting helping you escape, you needed to get out. But the rest of us . . . Wizard lost his best kid that day, and he made sure we knew it too." Arthur pointed to a small scar on his cheek. "I didn't get that skateboarding."

August's eyes were wide, but he did not look surprised. In fact, he nodded slowly as if he had _expected_ to hear something like that. This made Arthur even angrier.

"But hey, I ain't complaining," he said sharply. "I ain't got a family like you, sure. Whatever. Who needs parents anyway? I got all I want right here." He tapped the guitar lightly. It was a lie, but who said August needed to know that?

August nodded again. "The music helps," he said sympathetically. "It takes you away for a little while. Makes you feel safe."

"Yeah," Arthur said, suddenly studying August carefully. The other boy got a tender look in his eyes when he mentioned the music. "Something like that. But hey, I ain't no August Rush. So no matter what _I_ think of the music, Wizard always demands more. Better. He wants you back, August. Real bad. Said you were his favorite. His best. His little Mozart. His little prodigy. He goes looking for you some nights. I think he might be thinking of a kidnapping deal." Arthur felt some satisfaction on seeing the blood fade from August's face, but then felt a guilty weight settle in his chest.

"But hey, like, I wouldn't squeal on you. No way is he knowing I ran into you here. I've got your back." He slapped August's back companionably.

"Thanks Arthur, you're a real good friend." August smiled.

Arthur felt the weight grow heavier. August was so innocent! It was like he placed himself in this bubble where the music was the only thing he heard. Even though he had been through some real rough times with Wizard and not finding his folks for the longest time, he still remained so naïve too the cruel world. He shrugged and turned away.

"Yeah well, that's great and all, but it doesn't solve my problem. I can't go back to Wizard with all this money, August. He'll just want more and you won't be around."

"Sure I will," August said, digging into his pocket. He slipped a piece of paper into Arthur's hand. "That's my number," he said with a small grin. "Whenever you go to play, call me and I'll be here to help."

Arthur shook his head but pocketed the number. "Won't work. Wizard will eventually want to see me play. I mean, he'll probably ask for a demonstration today! No way I'm getting out of this mess. The music doesn't come to me like it does to you." He frowned.

"The music is all around you," August said with his never ending confidence. "All you have to do is listen."

"Hmph. Easy for _you_ to say Mr. Mozart." Arthur snorted. "Not all of us are child prodigies. I mean, I thought I was pretty good for a kid my age. But then you come along and blow us out of the water. And now it's like we all suck and you were the only good one around."

"I can teach you," August said, desperate to find a way that his friend would not get in trouble with Wizard. The man was frightening enough on his good days.

_Always the optimist,_ Arthur thought dismally. _A dose of reality might be good for this kid. More so than what he got before at least. Since that seemed to have not done anything._

Without thinking much more about it, Arthur blurted out, "Come teach all of us."

August started. "But Wizard –"

"I'll call you when he's out. Man, we could _use_ a musician like you. You could teach us all that stuff you learned at that Julie-place."

"Julliard," August corrected automatically, but his eyes were shining. It was obvious he liked the idea. He could really help the other kids this way. He could teach them to become so good at their instruments that Wizard would have no reason to keep looking for him. The man would be content with his brood and they wouldn't have to worry about Wizard getting angry at them. And then maybe . . . their own family would hear the music and find them, just like Lyla and Louis found him.

"Okay. I'll do it," August said with a smile.

"That's my man!" Arthur said, grinning in return. "I'll call you." He moved off deeper into the park, waving behind him at August.

August adjusted his guitar over his shoulder and waved back, happy he was finally going to be able to help his friends.

* * *

August did not tell his parents about Arthur's idea. He did not want them to worry about him, going down to Wizard's place all by himself. They would without doubt try to stop him, and he could not let Arthur and the others down. So when Arthur began calling in the afternoons, August made some excuse to leave and hurried down to Wizard's theater house. Lyla had insisted on homeschooling August, so he made sure he always completed his homework before leaving. He had night classes at Julliard, and he always set his watch to go off thirty minutes before he had to be there. Then he would tell his new students to keep practicing and race home in order for Lyla to walk him to his classes. She would ask where he had been, but August would evasively say, "Oh, somewhere" and leave it at that. If Lyla was suspicious, she did not say anything.

And the children were getting better, August could see the improvement. After a few weeks of lessons, he stopped seeing so many bruises. Arthur said that Wizard wondered only briefly about the change before deciding to believe it was just them practicing harder. August could not keep the smile off his face as he went through, step by step, the different ways to listen to the music that was around them.

Some of the kids struggled with listening. They would want to toot their horns or bang on their drums, not having the patience to just sit and wait for the music to speak to them. Others, like Arthur, responded well to the instruction and learned, slowly but surely, to hear the music in the air, in the subway, in the phone lines, in the passing cars.

"You'll be as good as me one day," August told Arthur one day.

Arthur had grinned, trying hard not to look as excited as he felt. "Naw, ain't none of us ever gonna be as good as August Rush."

"You're already getting better. Just keep practicing."

Three months passed. Louis and Lyla still had no idea where their son went when he left in the afternoons. When Lyla prodded him about it, he finally said, "I'm helping people. The way Julliard helped me." Neither of them new what August was talking about, but he seemed like his old self again, so they did not question him any further.

But then one day, he did not come home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Listen. Can you hear it? The music. I can hear it everywhere. In the wind . . . in the air . . . in the light. It's all around us. All you have to do is open yourself up. All you have to do . . . is listen."

There was a pregnant pause in the theater. All the children were seated in a circle around August, every one with their eyes closed, every one listening. August went around the circle slowly, taking care not to make any unnecessary noise. He watched as each child heard the music for themselves. He could see it by watching their faces. Their features relaxed, a look of wonder passed over them. And then they were picking up their instruments, strumming or tooting or pounding softly. As the children began to hear, they began to play.

After a moment they were all playing simultaneously. Only it was not exactly in unison; each was playing what they heard, and what they heard was all different. But somehow it all fit together perfectly. August could not help but grin widely. Everyone's eyes remained closed, everyone was in their own little world where the music was the only thing they heard. August reached down and picked up his own guitar. After listening to the rhythm of the piece, he started to play along with the others, stopping by each child and adding an extra something. He only stayed for a moment before he moved on, not wanting to influence their creation.

A few kids were not playing, their faces scrunched up in frustration as they tried but could not hear the music themselves. August told them gently to just start playing and see where it got them. They ended up grouping together and playing a piece separate from the other kids. August did not discourage them.

He sat in front of Arthur. The black boy opened his eyes and the two shared a smile, each strumming away to the music they were hearing. Suddenly a voice boomed from overhead.

"What is this I hear? My children so faithfully practicing. Ah! It brings a tear to my eye."

August jumped, his fingers faltering on the guitar. Arthur stopped as well. One by one the children ceased playing, all eyes turning up to where Wizard was making his way down to them, clapping exaggeratedly.

"Oh please, don't stop," he said. "Don't let me interrupt your little orchestra rehearsal. But what do we have here?" His eyes landed on August and he smiled slowly. August shivered involuntarily. "August." He said the name tenderly, as if greeting a long lost son. "August, August, August. So you've finally decided to return. You missed me that much, did you?"

August shook his head. "No," he said, his voice hoarse. "I came for Arthur."

"Ah, well, isn't he the lucky one?" Wizard stared down at Arthur. The boy lowered his gaze quickly, glancing surreptitiously at August. He noticed the white hands trembling. "So you didn't miss me at all? The man who taught you everything you know? The man who cared for you better than a father ever could have? The man who taught you how to play your music?"

Wizard crouched down in front of August, his eyes holding the boy's gaze as if he were the headlights coming straight at the deer, never slowing, sure to hit and kill. If the man noticed August's pale features and trembling hands, he took no notice of them. Instead he reached forward and snatched the guitar away from August, standing swiftly.

"Hey, this is a beautiful instrument," he said, running his hands all over the guitar, admiring every detail. "You know, I think I'll keep it. Old Roxanne is all battered up, which is no wonder considering the way Arthur treats it."

"You can't," August said, standing slowly. "It's mine. My dad gave it to me."

"Oh, your dad. That's right. You found your dad. Your real dad." Wizard gave August another smile, which looked as insincere as the first. "Tell me August, why did your dad give you this guitar?"

"Because he loves me" came the direct answer.

"Wrong!" Wizard roared, causing all in the theater to jump. August flinched as Wizard leaned forward to look him in the eye once more. "Your father gave you this guitar to play. And where better to play then the world? Come now, August. Don't you miss the streets? The sounds, the sights, the smells, the experience? That, my friend, is the real world. Not some stuck-up school for rich kids. This is the place where you can _feel_ the music flowing through your veins. Where you can really _hear_ it. Where it really _speaks_ to you!"

"I hear it everywhere," August said, clenching his fists in an attempt to stop the trembling. "Can't you?" He looked up at Wizard so frankly that he almost believed that he was not scared.

Arthur looked nervously from August to Wizard, feeling the tension crackle and pop in the air, making the hairs on his arms and neck to stand up. Wizard smiled and straightened. "Of course I can," he said, although he suddenly did not sound very convincing. "I hear it as well as anybody."

"I don't think you can," August said, doing his best to stand firm and look Wizard in the eye. "I don't think you hear anything anymore."

A flash of anger darkened Wizard's expression. Before Arthur could call out a warning, Wizard had backhanded August so hard the boy stumbled back against the piano. He clutched at his cheek, eyes filling with tears of pain. But he held them back resolutely, slowly lowering his hand to stare defiantly up at Wizard again.

"My parents love me," he said firmly. "And you can't keep me from them."

Wizard looked as though he might strike August again, but instead he smiled again, chuckling softly. "Actually, I believe I can."

Reaching forward he grabbed August by his arm, gripping so tightly the boy could not help but cry out softly in pain. All the children looked on with wide, frightened eyes, but none of them dared to interfere. Even Arthur could do nothing but watch helplessly as Wizard dragged August off the stage and around back to where a small utility closet was. Opening the door, Wizard shoved August inside of it.

"You've run away once already, who's to say you can't do it again?" he asked. "You were my best prodigy, August. You were going to make me a lot of money. We were all going to be rich. Now that you're back, things can go back to the way they were. On the road to greatness!" The man looked down at the guitar still in his hands. He tapped it with his fingers. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of her."

With that he shut the door and locked it, plunging August into stifling darkness.

August lost sense of time as he sat, shivering, in the closet. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them, hugging them close. He rocked back and forth slowly, whistling under his breath, taking comfort in the music. After a while he must have fallen asleep for the next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes to the sound of urgent knocking. He scrambled to sit up, his legs numb from being cramped in the tight space. Somehow he managed to get his ear to the door, feeling for the seam with his fingers, he pressed up against it, listening carefully.

"August? August, can you hear me?"

"Arthur?"

"Yeah. Listen, I can't get you out or Wizard will have my hide. But I just wanted you to know . . ."

"Yeah?" August wished he could see his friend. Despite the bravado he had shown against Wizard, he was frightened. Extremely frightened. And the small, dark space did nothing to help calm his nerves. He tried not to think of how little air he had and how much he had probably used up already.

"Well, that I, um . . . I'm gonna go find your folks. So they can get help, see. But, um, we won't be here when they show up to get you. Most of us kids, we're not really model citizens if you know what I mean. I don't wanna end up in juvie or nothing, so I'm gonna split. But I just wanted you to know . . . I got your back."

"Thanks Arthur. You're a great friend."

Arthur felt that guilty feeling again. This was practically all his fault. It had been his idea to bring August back into Wizard's world, and he should have been looking after the kid better. He did not know the full extent of what Wizard was capable of, and Arthur was determined not to let August know. With another slight tap on the door, he stood and left, hoping Wizard would not be back to visit August before he got Lyla and Louis.

It took him longer than he thought it would to find the apartment building they were living in. It was way past midnight, and he had no idea if they would be awake or not. He thought about calling, but did not want to freak them out. Besides, he had been curious about August's parents since he found out the kid had found them. He wanted to see them for himself.

Glancing up and down the hallway once he reached the right apartment, Arthur knocked on the door. It was immediately opened by a beautiful woman, her eyes red from crying. She looked like she had not slept all night.

"Yes?" she asked, breathless.

"Um, I got some information . . . about August?" Arthur said hesitantly, caught off-guard by her appearance.

Her eyes instantly filled with tears again. "Come in," she said, gesturing him in frantically. "Louis!" she called back into the apartment. "Louis! There's word of August!"

A man burst out from the back room, looking as though he had not slept any either. "August? 'E's back?" He looked at Arthur and disappointment clouded his expression.

The woman turned back to Arthur. "I'm Lyla, August's mother. Please, what happened? Where is he?"

Arthur swallowed, hoping he could go through with this. The two adults were staring at him and adults always made him uncomfortable, especially when they were staring. "He's with Wizard," he said. "August has kinda been teaching us stuff. Music stuff. But then Wizard came back, and he locked August up. He's gonna use him to play for money so Wizard can get rich. But I knew he had a family know and you don't know Wizard."

Louis's jaw tightened. He marched over to a table where he picked up his coat. He already had shoes on. "Lyla, call the police," he told his wife, pulling on his coat. "I'll give ya directions when I get thar." He nodded to Arthur. "Take me to 'im."

Arthur nodded wordlessly, the angry determination in the man's eyes rendering him speechless. If he had had a dad, would he have gotten this upset if his son had gone missing? Arthur could not say so for sure. He had never had a dad. Louis kissed Lyla's cheek and then hurried out the door with Arthur. Arthur found his palms were sweating as he led the man out into the streets and toward the theater. As much as he hated the idea of leading the police straight to their sanctuary, he knew he had to do this. For August. Besides, he had already told all the kids his plan, and they were ready to jump up and run when the police showed up. It was risky, but he just hoped it worked. They all hoped it did. For August's sake.

* * *

August was beginning to feel as though the tight confinement was going to drive him insane. The walls felt like they were closing in tighter and tighter and it was getting harder and harder to breath. He broke out into a cold sweat, the air hot and stifling. His head was beginning to feel dizzy, spots appearing before his eyes. But he knew he could not die; Wizard would not let his prized performer die on him . . . would he?

Finally, the door opened. August tumbled out onto the floor, gasping and choking for breath, sucking in the new, fresh air in great gulps, almost making himself sick in the process. He felt a boot nudge him and then Wizard was grabbing his arm and hauling him to his feet.

"Arthur's gone missing," the man said in a low, tight voice. "I'm sure he's gone to get help for you. But by the time he gets here, we won't be anywhere near this place. Pack your bags, August. We're heading for Brooklyn!"

August shook his head weakly. "My . . . parents," he gasped out, sagging against Wizard. His legs felt as though they were suspended somewhere below his waist, not attached to him at all. When Wizard let go of his arm, he fell to the ground, groaning at the knives and pin needles that were dancing up his calves and thighs.

"Get up," Wizard demanded. When August did not obey, he grabbed the boy by the hair and hauled him, ignoring the whimpers of pain coming from the boy. "As long as your fingers still work, you're fine. Let's go." He transferred his hand from August's hair to his shoulder, gripping tightly as he forced the boy to walk in front of him, toward the doors that would lead out into the alley and then the street to freedom. The man had August's new guitar strapped to his back, and it bumped up and down as he walked briskly forward.

August tried to think of a way to escape, but with his legs burning and his head spinning, and his breath hitching with every painful step, he knew he would not be able to get far. He thought about what Wizard had said about Arthur. Hopefully his friend had been able to find his parents in time. Wizard cursed as he peered around the door. Arthur was coming toward the theater, a tall man close behind. The man looked vaguely familiar, but Wizard could not quite place where he had seen him.

"Dad!" August suddenly shouted. Wizard smacked him hard across the face before clamping a hand over his mouth.

"Be quiet," he hissed. "Do you want to be the death of me?"

August just glared back from over Wizard's hand.

"Don't make me knock you out," Wizard warned, looking for another route. He grabbed August again and made his way toward a different pair of doors. Before he could get far however, the first doors burst open and Louis called out in a voice full of rage,

"Let go of me son!"

Wizard shoved August to the side and turned swiftly, lashing out with his fist. He caught Louis in the jaw and as the man reeled backwards, Wizard grabbed August again and started hauling him toward the exit. However sirens were sounding now. The flashing lights reflected throughout the theater. Wizard turned accusing eyes onto Arthur.

"Arthur . . . how could you?" he asked, his voice full of hurt.

Arthur did not fall for it. "Have a nice life in prison, Wizard," he said coldly, before cupping his hands over his mouth and shouting into the theater, "Coppers!"

Instantly the place was a flurry of movement as all the children quickly gathered up their stuff and bailed. Wizard tried to make a break for it, but Louis was in his way with an uppercut. Wizard stumbled back, smashing the guitar against the wall behind him. August flinched at the sound of cracking wood and snapping strings. He looked around for Arthur but the other boy seemed to have disappeared into the shadows.

The police stormed in then, quickly surrounding the two fighting men. They had to forcefully pry Louis off of Wizard, Louis having gotten the musician around the neck. August huddled down in a corner, hoping to be forgotten by Wizard in the confusion. The man was spouting off curses left and right, struggling with the policemen and growling like an animal. August watched with wide eyes as it took five men to get Wizard into handcuffs.

"Just you wait, August Rush!" he shouted as he was led away. "I'll find you again and it'll be just you and me forever!" He laughed and continued laughing as they put him in the squad car and drove away.

Louis ran a hand over his bloody mouth, his eyes searching the dark corners of the theater for his son. He did not have to wait long before August appeared, rushing toward him with open arms. He scooped the boy up, holding him tightly to his chest. August wrapped his arms and legs around his father, not caring that he acting like a little kid. The tears he had been holding back since Wizard had arrived came in earnest, and he cried on his dad's shoulder while Louis rubbed his back and kissed his hair.

A policeman offered to drive them home. August did not raise his face from his dad's shirt the entire way back to the apartment. When Louis carried him into their home, Lyla descended on them with a cry of relief and joy, tears streaming down her beautiful face. August switched arms, although this time Lyla had to sit down in order to hold him. Rocking him back and forth, she cried into his hair and held him tightly as Louis went to get some ice for his lip and came back to sit beside them.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ go away like that again," Lyla pleaded. "I don't ever want to lose you again. Never again, do you hear me? Never!"

"I'm sorry," August sobbed. "I'm sorry."

Together the three of them sat on their couch, holding each other until August fell asleep in his mother's arms.

* * *

It was a couple days later when they heard the news. Maxwell Wallace, also known as "Wizard" was in prison on charges of kidnapping, child abuse, and theft (in several cities apparently). The police were indebted to a young boy (who remained anonymous) who tipped them off to his real name and the abuse. They were still searching for the children who had been under Wizard, but so far none of them were to be found.

August turned off the television and turned to the dark boy beside him. Arthur smiled slightly, his eyes flickering to August's swollen cheek briefly.

"Wizard won't hurt anyone ever again, Arthur," August said with confidence. "You don't have to be afraid anymore."

"Who said I was afraid?" Arthur said defensively, but August knew he was only covering up the pain inside.

Lyla glanced into the living room. "You boys hungry?" she asked with a smile.

"Yes, ma'am!" Arthur said, standing.

Lyla laughed. "You don't have to call me, ma'am," she said. "You should get used to calling me 'Mom.' Louis will have those adoption papers ready in a few days."

August grinned at his friend.

"Yes, Mom," Arthur said, somewhat shyly.

"Now go clean up for dinner," Lyla said, nodding to the bathroom. "Louis will be home in a few minutes and then we're going to eat."

The boys hurried off to obey. While they were washing their hands, Arthur turned to August. "I heard it that night." At August's quizzical glance, Arthur took a deep breath and shook his head. "If I told anyone else, they'd think I was going crazy. But that night I went to find your folks and tell them about Wizard, I heard the music. It led me to them. I can't really explain it, it was just . . . there. In the air . . . in the wind. Whispering to me. Telling me where to go." He shook his head again. "I'm telling you man, I thought _I_ was going crazy."

August was grinning so widely it looked like it might just tear his face in two. He did not have to say anything. When Arthur looked at him, he knew August understood.

"You know what, kid? I think we're gonna be alright."

The front door opened and closed and Louis's voice carried throughout the house as he called to them that he was home. The boys tore out of the restroom in order to tackle him in a giant hug. They rolled around on the floor, wrestling playfully until Lyla called them to come and eat. Then the four of them sat around the table and said grace before the meal.

August sent up an extra prayer of thanks to God for taking care of Arthur. And before he said amen, he also gave thanks for the music that had made everything alright.

* * *

**Just a little idea I had the other day. I always wondered what had happened to Arthur after the concert. Review and tell me what you think!**


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